Oh no, say I, no wishes at all. Maybe not to work as much as last year, but this is more wishful thinking than anything else and I fill up D’s wineglass again. I gave up smoking many years ago and drinking even longer and so I just can shrug my shoulders, and don’t say that I am convinced that the golden times when wishing still helped one, are long gone. Nothing to wish left, I say and D’s wineglass and my water-glass cling softly. The deepest wishes I have, I never tell someone, in the light of the day, they surely would look sheepish and loose, cheap and would be overrun before their time had come. Similar to some exotic insects, which look magic from far and dead when touched from nearby.
Therefore, to the unsaid! And for all of you I wish your year may become a splendid, a sparkling, glamorous one. A veritable cornucopia it shall be, twelve months full of joy and laughter and golden jubilance, a rushing roller coaster, a long summer evening with paper lanterns and soft music all over the air. A cry for the lust for life it shall be, full of laughter in its most pleasant ways and nothing to regret till the next last night of the year.
( And if nothing helps, a bit of Yiddish Shmonzes always does. )